


Stardust

by pennyroads



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dubious Science, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, fake deep fluff, purple prose galore, terrible jokes and even more terrible poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 01:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17591984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyroads/pseuds/pennyroads
Summary: Betty cocked an eyebrow. “So you're saying I’m a star?”“I'm saying that every atom was once part of a star.” Jughead sat up, turning to face her.  “All the elements in your body — carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, the entire periodic table, in fact — were processed inside of an ancient star that eventually exploded. So you’re actually a dead star. Stardust.”Or, the one where Jug is an astrophysicist, Betty is a philosopher and Veronica is caught between a rock and a hard place (meaning, Archie and Reggie) — A Bughead University AU





	Stardust

**Author's Note:**

> I am not an astrophysicist, nor am I a philosopher; I'm simply a fan of both disciplines, and a reader who loves to pretend that she knows the secrets of the universe. 
> 
> I apologize for any scientific inaccuracies you may find in this story. 
> 
> I leave you, if I may, with the quote that inspired it all:
> 
> “We are part of this universe; we are in this universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts, is that the universe is in us.” - Neil DeGrasse Tyson

 

 _”We are stars wrapped in skin. The light you are seeking has always been within.”_ Rumi

 

 

//

 

 

“What's your favorite philosophical theory?” Jughead asked.

It was the night of the autumnal equinox—Summer was waving its goodbye, but the air was still comfortably warm. Betty and Jughead were sprawled out next to each other on a thick, checkered picnic blanket that had been stolen from the props room of the University’s theatre department. The sky was clear, alight with a multitude of stars.

Jughead glanced at Betty. They were close, his arm flush against hers. She was looking up at the sky, eyes lost in the constellations.

He had an unobstructed view of her profile: bright green eyes and long, delicate lashes; a pointed, elegant nose; a stubborn chin; soft, pink lips. She licked them, just then.

“That’s a tough question.”

Betty took a moment to gather her thoughts, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. “Hmm, I suppose there are elements I like about each one, but Presentism might be my favorite.”

“I don't think I know that one.”

He loved to hear Betty talk about Philosophy. There was something mesmerizing about the way it lit her up from the inside. She could ramble on for hours — experience had taught him that — and he never denied her the opportunity. Her passion was contagious.

“It's the idea that time can be divided into past, present and future, but the past and the future are imagined concepts, and only the present is real.”

Jughead remained quiet, scrutinizing her words, adding them to his mental catalogue of her personality. His silence weighed on Betty, who blushed under his gaze. He sometimes got lost in thought when he was around her; it was a problem.

Jughead cleared his throat, “and why is that?”

“I guess it's because I like the idea that only the person you are now matters.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “And there's also something very freeing in not having to worry about who you’ll be in the future. It forces you to live in the moment.”

He was a little in awe of her — he’d never met someone quite so genuine before.

“But what do I know, uh?” she said dismissively.

Jughead frowned. “Your ideas matter, Betty. Someday, people will line up to hear you talk about life, and fate and all the messy bits in between.”

Betty placed her hand on top of his. She glanced at him, eyes dropping to his lips before quickly looking away.

“You’re sweet to say that, Juggie.” She gave his hand a light squeeze.

Jughead wondered how such a simple touch could make someone feel so much. His hand itched to turn and loop his fingers around hers.

“It’s getting late,” Betty said. She sat up and brushed a few stray blades of grass from her elbows.

“Wait, don't go,” his index finger curled around the belt loop of Betty’s jeans, keeping her in place. “Not just yet.”

She looked down at him. He didn't know what his face was doing — the only thing he knew for sure was that he didn't want the night to end — but whatever Betty saw there convinced her, and she leaned back down next to him. His shoulder tingled where it touched hers.

Silence settled over them like a blanket.

“So tell me more about the stars,” Betty asked eventually.

“What do you want to know?”

She looked pensively up at the sky, at the vast expanse of it — at the moon, planets and stars; the nebulae, galaxies and meteors, millions of light years away. Then she shifted to her side, tucking her hands under her cheek, facing him completely.

“Everything.”

 

 

.

 

 

Much like the stars in the sky, some people shone brighter than others.

Betty Cooper was iridescent.

She had blazed into Jughead’s life like a cosmic storm — suddenly, and without warning.

They met via Archie Andrews, a laid back Music Theory student, who had seemingly befriended the entire freshman class within the space of a week.

Back in their first year of college, Archie and Reggie, his roommate, had hosted the first freshman party, which Jughead was passive aggressively bullied into attending.

That’s when he saw her — and also when he accidentally hit her in the face with a ping pong ball (beer pong had henceforth been removed from the Jughead Jones List of Approved Party Games).

To this day, Betty and Jughead argued over wether or not the incident that brought them together had been a twist of fate.

Betty, ever the philosopher, insisted that it had been a happy accident, based on the choices they made that day - serendipity at its finest; while astrophysicist Jughead knew that in a quantum universe, there were no such things as accidents - only possibilities and probabilities folded into existence by perception.

At a glance, they were very different people — Jughead was a scientist who searched for the uncompromising truth; Betty was an idealist, choosing to accept that there were many different versions of the truth.

Somehow, they clicked, and instead of butting heads, they complemented each other. Sometimes Jughead needed a healthy dose of idealism; sometimes Betty needed to be brought back down to earth.

And like a cosmic storm, on that night, their two individual galaxies smashed into one another to form a single galactic structure.

They’d been inseparable ever since.

Friends.

The best of friends.

Depressingly, torturously — to Jughead, at least — just friends.

 

 

.

 

 

Betty and Jughead had been holed up in her room for the better part of the day, going over study notes for the upcoming exams — hers, Ethics; his, Astronomy.

Jughead shifted, adjusting his leg, which had gone numb. Betty’s sheets were wrinkled under him. He usually used her bed as a makeshift desk, leaving the _actual_ desk and matching chair for Betty. She sometimes complained about back pain, so she needed the proper support and he adamantly refused to take her workspace away from her.

“Coop!” Veronica Lodge stormed into Betty’s room, 5’3ft (plus heels) of undiluted female energy and designer shoes.

Jughead sat up with a morose sigh, resigning himself the fact that his peace and quiet had just come to an abrupt end.

“Remember that time I pretended to be your lesbian lover to get rid of the crusty asshole that was hitting on you at the bar?”

Betty’s eyes narrowed. “Yes...”

“Wow, wow, wow... what?” Jughead spluttered.

Veronica ignored him. “I need a favor.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Don't be silly. It’s about Cheryl Blossom.”

Betty rolled her eyes. “You mean your sworn enemy whom you hate?”

“I don't hate her _per se_. I just hope her next period happens in a shark tank.”

“Oh, so you're gal pals?” Betty snorted.

Veronica shot her a sardonic smile. “I need you to tell your dear cousin to cease and desist from her pursuit of Archie. He and I have unfinished business which require his full attention.”

Jughead’s face screwed into a frown. “I thought you were with Reggie.”

“I am. Casually. But things with Archie are still very much in progress.”

“Why can't you just pick the one you like best?” Jughead asked, ignoring Betty’s pointed look.

“As if it were that simple! My feelings for both Reggie and Archie are _complex_ and not so easily compartmentalized,” she huffed.

“Sounds tiring. I can't imagine having that many _feelings_.”

Veronica threw him a scathing look. “That's because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

Jughead’s mouth twisted into an involuntary smirk.

“I’ll let that one go because I respect your Harry Potter reference, Lodge,” he conceded, “but in the interest of keeping Betty safe from the clutches of Cheryl Blossom, I feel obliged to tell you that you don't actually have anything to worry about.”

Veronica turned her full attention to him, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow quizzically. “Oh?”

“Cheryl’s been dating Toni Topaz.”

Veronica’s entire demeanor brightened and a genuine smile unfurled on her face. “That's excellent news!”

Satisfied with the happy turn of events, Veronica stood up, brushing invisible lint off her miniskirt. She left the room as quickly as she had come in, throwing them a wave and shouting, “Thank you chickens! As you were!” over her shoulder.

“How does she always have so much energy?” Betty sighed, watching her go.

“I hear she's on the Paleo diet.” Jughead smirked. “You'd be surprised by what regular bowel movements can do for a person’s disposition.”

He laughed when Betty threw a decorative pillow at his face.

 

 

.

 

 

“Do you think life is measured in days?” Betty asked, handing Jughead her uneaten sandwich.

They were sitting under an ancient oak tree that faced the courtyard. Betty had her notes spread out on her lap. Plato, Popper, Carnap, Hobbes — all the great philosophers’ words at the tip of her fingers. Her eyes were unfocused, staring off into the distance.

“How else would you measure it?”

Betty seemed startled by the response, almost like she’d been speaking to herself and hadn't expected Jughead to be paying attention.

“The people you meet. The places you go.” Her eyes settled on him. “The moments you share with someone.”

“If you're asking for a scientific perspective on the meaning of life, well... the universe is dying. We’re part of its story, but we’re still careening down a one way road towards cosmic entropy. Five billion years from now, even the concept of life will be meaningless.”

Betty furrowed her brow. “That's a little fatalistic. Wasn't it one of your scientists who said, ‘ _For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love_ ’— or something like that?”

Jughead groaned. “Ugh. Seduce me with your Carl Sagan quotes, will you.”

She chuckled, reaching out to pull his hat down over his eyes. Jughead let out a playful ‘Hey!’ and removed his beanie, shaking out his hair.

“I don't think you're as much of a cynic as you think you are.” Betty’s lips curled into a lopsided grin. The look she gave him pierced him to his core.

Jughead swallowed down the nervous energy that had bubbled up in his chest. He was powerless to stop himself from looking down at her lips. She noticed — and licked hers conspicuously.

“I don't think anyone's ever accused me of being a romantic before,” he rasped.

Betty’s eyes softened. “That's because they don't know you like I do.”

Jughead leaned in. He raised his hand to touch her cheek but before he could make contact, Reggie’s voice boomed from across the courtyard.

“ _Hey Jones! What kind of songs do planets sing?!_ ”

A beat later: ‘ _Neptunes_!’

Betty giggled. They were so close he could feel her breath tickling his face.

Jughead pulled away, scowling. The moment was decidedly ruined. He groaned, laying down on the grass.

“What if he was suddenly killed by falling space debris?” he mused. “What _If_?”

Betty chuckled. “What are the odds of that happening?”

“Roughly one in five billion.”

“I wouldn't hold my breath, then.”

Jughead couldn't see her, because his eyes were shut, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

Fuck Reggie.

 

 

.

 

 

The study lounge was bursting with anxiety-ridden students feverishly thumbing through books.

The large corner table they had claimed was dotted with the evidence of an all-day cramming session: piles of books on Astrobiology and Planetary Science mixed together with candy wrappers; Veronica and Reggie’s colorful graphs underneath empty coffee cups and muffin liners; a Tupperware full of Betty’s homemade cinnamon waffles - _a treat for later, if you're good_ , she’d promised.

Betty was sitting next to Jughead, pouring over a textbook and scribbling down comments on the margins. Her ponytail was coming undone. Her bottom lip looked sore from how hard she'd been biting down on it. Finals were brutal, and she took the pressure harder than any of them.

Jughead wanted to lay a comforting hand on her back, but he didn't know if she'd welcome the interruption.

“Guys, I’m going to fail so hard,” Archie groaned, dropping his head into his hands. His spot was the messiest; papers spread out everywhere, guitar picks serving as makeshift bookmarks, a half-eaten Mars bar leaving an ugly brown stain on one of his music sheets.

“You should have thought of that last night when you were three seasons deep into a Roswell marathon, Arch,” Jughead quipped.

Archie shot Jughead an accusatory look. “Hey, you watched the pilot with me and you enjoyed it. Don't pretend like you didn't.”

“True, but _I_ didn't think it was a documentary.”

A girl from a neighboring table shushed them loudly. Betty sent her an apologetic smile and turned to stare daggers at Archie and Jughead. The boys returned to their work, knowing better than to argue.

Minutes later, Archie leaned in and whispered conspiratorially: “So do you think they're... you know... _among us_?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “The aliens?”

Jughead contemplated letting the question go unanswered, but there was something exquisitely delightful about messing with Archie.

“In a way, we’re all a little bit alien. They say nearly half of the atoms in our bodies could have formed beyond the Milky Way and travelled to our solar system on intergalactic winds.”

Archie processed the information with a faraway look of horror on his face, eyes darting between Jughead and his own hands, as if his entire perception of life had just shifted on a fundamental level.

“ _Bro._ ”

Veronica abandoned her spreadsheet in favor of tuning into the conversation, glancing worriedly at Archie.

“I think you broke him,” she told Jughead.

“Don't worry, Arch. If an alien sixty-five million light years away is looking at us through a telescope right now, he's looking at the dinosaurs.”

Archie’s horrified frown deepened.

Betty cocked an eyebrow, “So you're saying I’m a star?”

“I'm saying that every atom was once part of a star,” Jughead sat up, turning to face her. “All the elements in your body — carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, the entire periodic table, in fact — were processed inside of an ancient star that eventually exploded. So you’re actually a dead star. Stardust.”

Betty’s smile dimmed. “That's a little sad.”

The same girl shushed them again before Jughead had a chance to respond.

He couldn't really let it go, though, because he hated seeing Betty disappointed, even in something as fundamental as the nature of the cosmos.

A thought came to him — a couple of verses. He felt bold and a little reckless. He snagged a piece of paper from his notebook and jotted down the words, slipping it surreptitiously under Betty’s notes.

She noticed it later, as she shuffled her stack of papers into a neat pile. She glanced at the poem curiously.

 

_There are galaxies within us_

_And you are the brightest star_

_In all_

_Of mine_

 

Betty looked up at Jughead and his breath caught. Her smile was brighter than any constellation he had ever seen in the night sky.

 

 

.

 

 

“Gentleman, ladies — we’re hosting a rager tomorrow!” Reggie announced, barging into the student lounge with Veronica and Archie in tow.

Veronica shot him down with a glacial look. “Excuse you, Reginald — it’s going to be an elegant soirée of refined conversation and expensive, themed cocktails. If I see _one_ keg entering the premises, I will castrate you in your sleep.”

Reggie paled. “Elegant soirée, got it.”

To Archie, he whispered, _‘what's a soirée?’_. Archie shrugged.

“It's the perfect way to celebrate the end of midterms.” Veronica clapped her hands excitedly.

She turned to Betty. “Coop, I’ll need your help with the decorations. I’m thinking ‘Prohibition Era’ for the theme.”

Betty’s smile was tight-lipped — it didn't remotely reach her eyes. A tension line marred her forehead. “Of course, V.”

Veronica didn’t seem to notice. She moved on to the other side of the room to discuss pyrotechnics with Sweet Pea and Fangs.

Jughead watched the scene unfold from his spot on couch, choosing not to interfere lest he be saddled with any responsibilities. He eyed Betty worriedly — she was eating from a pocket sized box of Lucky Charms distractedly. She always picked off the loops and left the marshmallows for him, because she knew they were his favorite. He willed her to meet his eyes, tapping her gently on the leg, but she didn't budge. Whatever was bothering her, she didn't feel like sharing it with him just yet.

“Hey Jug, how do you organize a space party?” Reggie asked, interrupting his thoughts. His self-satisfied smirk grew into a wide smile.

“You planet!” He guffawed, looking sideways at Archie so he could join in on the joke.

Jughead was used to Reggie's jokes. It was part of their relationship — dumb humor and thinly veiled insults were how they showed affection — but his last interruption was still fresh on Jughead’s mind.

“You know, light travels faster than sound. This is why some people seem bright until they speak.” Jughead pointed at Reggie, “— case in point.”

 

 

.

 

 

Jughead left the exam room feeling mentally drained. Astronomy was the hardest class in the curriculum, and it had kicked his ass throughout the semester.

He didn't think he had done badly at all. It called for a celebration; a celebratory burger or two, at the very least. He wondered if Betty was finished with her own exam.

He took his phone out of his pocket and realized that the battery was dead — he'd have to make a detour to the dorms. Jughead sighed. It'd be worth it.

He hastened through the courtyard, past the Poli Sci building, until he was pushing his key into the lock and shuffling into his room. 

Jughead was considering the pros and cons of dropping by the kitchen to heat up some noodles when Archie and Reggie came knocking on his door.

“Hey Jug. We’re going downtown to watch the new Lady Gaga movie.” Archie turned to Reggie, “what's it called again?”

“A Star is Born.”

“That's the one! Do you wanna come with?”

“A new star is born in our galaxy every eighteen days. I’ll catch the next one,” Jughead replied. “Thanks, though.”

“Told you he wouldn't go for it. The dude’s always on his period,” Reggie snarked.

He was saved from Jughead’s scathing retort by the arrival of a troubled Veronica, who pushed past Reggie unceremoniously.

“Have you seen to Betty?” she asked Jughead.

“No. Why? I was just about to go find her.”

“What about you guys?” She turned to look at Archie and Reggie, who shook their heads.

Veronica’s forehead creased. “She ran out of the room in the middle of our Ethics exam.”

“What? Why?”

“I have no clue,” she shrugged, fidgeting with her pearl necklace. “I thought you'd know.”

Jughead removed his beanie, running a hand through his hair. He willed his brain to ignore the inkling of panic and focus on a plan of action. It was very unlike Betty to act like that, which was what, more than anything, made him worry that something had happened.

“Okay listen, you go to her dorm. Ask the girls if they’ve seen her.” He thought he sounded a lot more confident than he felt.

Veronica nodded firmly, already halfway out the door.

“We’ll check the student lounge,” Archie piped in. Jughead nodded gratefully and the two boys took off.

“Where will you go?” Veronica asked.

“I could be wrong, but if she was upset, I think I know where she might be.”

Veronica gave him a small, reassuring smile and squeezed his arm gently, following in the boy's footsteps and disappearing down the hall.

Jughead didn't dally — he shoved his beanie on his head, grabbed his keys and set out to find his girl.

 

 

.

 

 

He found her sitting on a leafy patch of grass on the side of the hill.

It was a spot he had introduced her to when they first met. He'd taken her there to watch the lunar eclipse — it was close to campus but far enough away from large clusters of light.

It was Jughead’s favorite spot for stargazing.

He felt his heart settle on his chest and allowed himself to take a deep, slow breath for what felt like the first time since Veronica had come to him for help.

It made sense that he'd be the one to find her.

The universe had the Great Attractor — an enormous gravitational force in intergalactic space that drew the Milky Way, Andromeda and all the nearby galaxies closer to it; Jughead had Betty. It was a similar phenomenon, and just as inevitable.

He walked over to her with slow, measured steps. Betty looked to be deep in thought, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. He didn't want to startle her.

When he finally reached her, her eyes remained downcast, but he knew she’d seen him. He sat down next to her, careful not to jostle her, but close enough for their arms to touch.

Her shoulders sagged a little.

“I'm failing, Juggie,” she whispered.

Betty looked up at him, and the sight of her punched the air out of his lungs.

Her bottom lip trembled with the effort to keep from crying. Jughead had never seen her this distraught, and it had a profound effect on him — it made him feel helpless and unmoored. Betty was usually the most composed out of the group, always talking _them_ out of a ledge whenever they were going through a particularly stressful period.

“What— Betty, what do you mean? Was it the exam?”

“I couldn't do it,” she sniffled noisily. “I couldn't remember anything. I studied so _hard_ Juggie, you know I did. I’m a failure.”

She finally caved under the pressure of her inner turmoil and threw her arms around Jughead’s neck. He held her to him, arms snaking around her waist and twining through her hair, every inch of their bodies fusing together in a tight hug.

The sobs that escaped her lips tugged at his heartstrings. He focused on rubbing soothing circles on her back.

“It’s okay, baby. Whatever it is, it’ll be okay,” he whispered.

Jughead continued to hold her until her breath evened out and her trembling quieted. He kissed her temple gently before pulling away and swiping his thumb under her eyes to clear away the tears.

“Are you ready to hear some cold, hard truths, Betts?”

She looked doubtful, but nodded slowly, wiping her nose on her sleeve. 

“First of all, you are not failing.”

He continued before she could argue, “you are _not_. I know what your grades are like, you’re the best student in your class. You can make up the exam.”

The words had a powerful effect on Betty. She straightened her back, tension seeping from her shoulders little by little.

“Second of all, you, Betty Cooper, are not and never will be a failure. Do you remember that day, when we went to the lake?”

“Yes...?”

“You told me about the Multiverse Theory. How there could be an infinite number of parallel universes out there. Remember that?”

Betty eyed him curiously, nodding her head.

“Here’s the truth — no matter how many universes exist, you are not a failure in any of them.” Jughead winked. “I would know, it's my area of expertise.”

Betty’s small grin stretched into a genuine smile. “You’re a dork, Juggie,” she said timidly.

His face screwed up dramatically. “Lies and slander!”

Betty chuckled, rolling her eyes at his antics, and Jughead thought, _success_.

There was just one more thing he needed to get off his chest. A tiny, monumental thing.

If it all went to shit, Jughead hoped that the universe would repay all the years he had spent studying it by sending down an asteroid to smash him to smithereens and put him out of his misery.

“There's another truth that you should know. In the interest of science, and all.”

“What's that?” she asked.

Jughead forced himself to face her. _Inhale_

 _Exhale_. “There isn't a single universe out there in which I’m not irrevocably in love with you, Betty Cooper.”

She was so close and she was looking up at him with pleading eyes and a soft, secret smile and she was waiting - Jughead had always been told not to leave a good thing waiting.

“Are you sure?” he whispered hoarsely.

Betty’s eyes dropped to his mouth. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Please...”

It started softly - a barely there press of lips, his against hers, gentle and timid.

At the brush of his tongue, her mouth fell open. Jughead’s hands twined into her hair, pulling her closer to him. He grew bolder, sucking on her bottom lip and rejoicing at the breathy moans that she let out.

Everything else melted away as they kissed under a sky that would later fill with the stars under which they had fallen in love.

Betty pulled away, placing her hands on either side of his face. She had a very disarming way of looking at him and _seeing_ all of him. He had never met anyone else who could do that.

Her eyes were wide and bright and alive.

There was a philosophical theory — Betty had talked about it once — that consisted of the idea that the universe had a fixed, limited supply of energy, and as that energy ran out, the world slowed down.

But looking into Betty’s eyes just then, Jughead could have told any of the major philosophers of antiquity that they needn’t have worried, because if there was ever a shortage of it on earth, Betty’s bright, green eyes held enough energy to supply entire planetary systems.

They communicated with a look. Words were superfluous, because people like them — who studied the universe and knew how infinitely finite life was — didn't look for promises, but they still never failed each other.

And they loved each other, even as the universe careened towards cosmic doom.

They were stardust.

...

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated and help soothe the pain of knowing that we’re headed towards cosmic entropy ;) 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @pennyroads 
> 
> Thank you for reading! x


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